


Paint something for me

by Sherlocked_Moriartied



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, M/M, Painter!Q, Period-Typical Homophobia, Secret Relationship, Writer!James Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:58:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlocked_Moriartied/pseuds/Sherlocked_Moriartied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Music, flowers, people chatting everywhere. He hated those parties, and the only reason for his presence there was because he came from a noble family and, of course, he had to attend to this "great social event", as his Mother said. "</p><p>Q is a young painter and James is a writer. They start a friendship that will slowly become something more. But it won't last forever...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first long-fic, and also my first fanfiction in this fandom.  
> I'm not native-english, so if you notice any kind of mistake, please, tell me.

Music, flowers, people chatting everywhere. He hated those parties, and the only reason for his presence there was because he came from a noble family and, of course, he had to attend to this "great social event", as his Mother said. James took another sip of champagne from his flute, wandering around the hall. There were people from the biggest families in the country and he had also spotted the daughter of the Prime Minister: such a beautiful girl. She caught his glance and James decided to approach and greet her.  
"Good evening, Lady Cecil. Are you enjoying your night?" He asked, with a kind smile and she nodded. "Oh, Mr. Bond! Yes, I am. I love these kinds of parties, mostly because my father is not here. " She chuckled, covering her mouth with that small, elegant hand.  
"Tell me, Mr. Bond, don't you find Mr. McGuillam an incredibly talented young man?" She asked then, glancing at the boy who was talking and shaking hands with several people. He was the reason James was there that night. Carlton McGuillam: this was the name of the youngest painter in London. He had sold a wonderful painting and recently he had just opened a gallery. James' mother has been begging him to attend that event and, in the end, he accepted. And there he was.  
"Yes, he is, Lady Cecil. I must say that his paintings are wonderful." He admitted, looking around. ""And if you were hoping to meet him tonight, well, my dear, I'm happy to tell you that I could make this happen. Come with me." He smiled, offering her his arm and leading the girl towards the boy.  
"Mr. McGuillan! It's a pleasure for us to meet you. May I introduce myself? I'm James Bond and this young lady here is Lady Beatrix Cecil." The man said and the boy gave them a big smile, kissing the hand of the girl.  
"Oh, I know you, Lady Cecil. You are the daughter of the Prime Minister, am I wrong? Such a beautiful lady. I'd like to make you a portrait, one day, if you accept." He said, in a soft whisper and she visibly blushed.  
"I'd love to, sir." She muttered back, embarrassed but happy. James chuckled quietly and looked at the painter. He had black hair and two blue eyes, so intense and deep that he could lose himself into their depth. He seemed like a smart boy and probably he was since he had never met someone so young and so talented as him. There was something in him that attracted James’s interest.  
"And, Mr. Bond, are you the lucky man who captured the heart of this beautiful lady, here?" Asked suddenly Carlton and James quickly shook his head. "Oh no, you're wrong. I'm merely a friend." He replied, politely and the boy gave him a quick smirk. "Anyway, Mr. McGuillan, I've to say that you have an exquisite taste in art. Your paintings are beautiful." Continued James and the young man bowed his head a little. "Well, thank you sir. I love art. And you seem to love it too, am I wrong?" He said, cocking his head to one side and James nodded. "Absolutely not, sir. You're right. I can perfectly understand you. And I believe in "Art for Art's sake" as Keats said."  
James smiled and the boy clapped in praise.  
"I like you, sir. I like the way you think."  
"Thank you, Mr. McGuillam." He replied when they got suddenly interrupted by a woman who was shouting in their direction.  
“Oh God, it’s my aunt. You must forgive me, I have to go, but it was a great pleasure to meet you.” Carlton said, smiling, before running away.  
“Q! Q! Oh for God’s sake!” The woman sighed, frowning.  
“I’m sorry for the behaviour of my nephew! He never listens to me!” she apologised and James waved a hand.  
“You don’t have to worry, milady. He’s young, it’s understandable.” Said the man, smiling, even if a bit confused by the name the woman gave to his nephew. He shook his head, before looking at his watch.  
“It’s late, I shall go. I hope to see you again.” He bowed, before kissing the hands of the two women. He smiled and walked away, tired and eager to get home. The encounter with the boy has been brief but interesting and it would have been a lie if he didn’t admit that he would have liked to meet him again.  
In the following weeks he relaxed, doing nothing but reading some book or attending theatrical performances, which he loved, or travelling. He was a writer and he loved telling stories about the place he had visited. It was his usual life, calm, peaceful. It wasn’t very exciting, but he loved it. Despite of what his mother said (“You have to find a wife, my dear! I can’t bare to see you like this, all alone, by yourself. It’s not right. I know you’re young, but you need someone by your side!”), he preferred being alone. He was used to the silence, to a calm and peaceful life. Also, he was still very young, he didn’t care about marriage, though he didn’t refuse sleeping with some attractive lady now and then.

He hadn’t think about that Carlton boy after their meeting, until one day, two months later, his mother asked him to accompany her to a charity event, to which she had to “…absolutely go, James! We can’t possibly miss it. There will be the most important people in the country.” she said and the man rolled his eyes, with a sigh, but followed her either way.  
When they arrived, James noticed that were all old men and women, no one was even remotely interesting. While his mother was clearly enjoying the evening, he couldn’t possibly have fun: after all, he was doing it for her, wasn’t he? So he didn’t complain and he decided to get out in the garden, to smoke a cigarette.  
“Mr. Bond?” a voice –a young voice- called him and he turned around, widening his eyes in surprise.  
“Mr. McGuillam!” he exclaimed and the boy gave him a relieved smile.  
“Thank God I found you!” he said, stepping next to him. “I was contemplating the idea of running away, leaving my aunt here! This event is killing me. I don’t even know why I accepted to follow her in the first place.” He moaned and James couldn’t help but chuckle. He observed the boy and noticed that he was even thinner than the last time he had seen him.  
“Yes, I perfectly understand what do you mean. I’m here with my mother and I can’t really stand another minute here. It’s a fortune we’ve met!” he said, handing him his cigarette. Carlton hesitated a little and it wasn’t hard for James to guess that he had never smoked before.  
“You don’t have to take it, if you don’t want to.” Said the blond man, closing the case, but the boy shook his head, opening it again.  
“No, no. I’d love to smoke a cigarette.” He muttered and he took it. James lightened it and the younger man took a deep drag, coughing. The man chuckled, patting his back.  
“I’m fine, I’m fine! It’s just that…I’m not used to it.” Managed to say Carlton between his coughs. The second drag was shorter and in the end he blew out the smoke, getting it right this time. James smiled and they started talking about this and that and then, eventually, James asked him about the strange name his aunt had used that night to call him.  
“So, Mr. McGuillan… Last night your lovely aunt called you in a strange way…’Q’, I think. Why?” he asked, genuinely curious. Carlton blushed a little, stroking the back of his head.  
“Oh, it’s just stupid. When I was just a baby I couldn’t say my name and every time, the only thing I could manage to say was ‘Q’. It’s embarrassing. And she still calls me like that…” he sighed, but James smiled.  
“Actually, I think it’s…well, nice. So you live with her?”  
“Yes. Since my parents died ten years ago. She took care of me. She can be terrible sometimes but in the end she really loves me.” He couldn’t help but smile a little and the blond man felt a rush of affection towards him. He decided to change subject and took a drag from his cigarette.  
“Are you working on any new painting at the moment?” he asked and at that question the boy gave him a big smile.  
“Oh, yes sir, I am! A banker, from Paris, commissioned me the portrait of his now dead wife. I immediately accepted and now it’s almost over. In fact…” he stopped for a moment, looking at the man. “…would you like to give me your opinion on it? It would be a great honour for me to receive some kind of advice from you, sir.” He said, and his face turned of a lovely shade of pink.  
“It’s the first time someone asks me to draw something so big and important and I think that an opinion from an outsider would be very helpful.” He continued and James nodded.  
“Of course. I’d love to.” He smiled and Carlton looked at him with gratitude.  
“Thank you, sir! Really, thank you.” He said, excited, shaking his hand vigorously. James chuckled at the enthusiasm of the nineteen-years-older. The boy took out from his trousers’ pocket a rectangular piece of paper, with an address on it. “This is my address. If you could come tomorrow it will be great, Mr. Bond.” Said him and James took the card, with a smile.  
“I’ll be there at 5 P.M. And please, call me James. I’m too young to be called with my last name. I’m twenty-five, after all.”  
“Then call me Q.” Grinned the boy, before looking at his watch. “Gosh, it’s late. I should better be going. Again, thank you James.” He bowed, before getting back into the great hall and James waved a hand at him, before leaning against the wall, lightening another cigarette.


	2. Chapter 2

James had always been a womanizer. Ladies couldn’t simply resist him: it was probably his wit, or his personality, or maybe the fact that he was fully conscious about how attractive he was and he used this beauty to his advantage. He had never been really interested in men, except for that one time when he had been in war. Anyway, he had little experience. That’s why he found himself surprised when he woke up from a strange dream about Q. He had dreamt about his eyes, so bright and blue, about his pale skin, wondering if it was as soft as it looked.  
James groaned, almost disgusted by his thoughts. He was a man, he loved women and he didn’t even knew the boy that well (and he was nineteen, for Christ’s sake!).  
James sighed, running a hand through his short, blond hair, flopping back against the pillows. What was happening to him? Maybe his mother was right, he needed to find a wife. But the idea itself made his nose wrinkle: he was still young, he wanted to have fun, not being forced in a marriage. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.  
“God, I need some sleep…” he murmured to himself, hoping not to dream that boy again.  
  
The next afternoon James reached the address that Carlton had given him the night before. It was a little flat, and the man guessed it was the boy’s studio, or something like that. He wondered, however, why he stayed in a place like this. After all, his aunt was rich, he could have lived in a better place. When James rang the bell, Q opened the door, with a big smile. “Mr.Bon- no, sorry, James! Come in!” he exclaimed. He seemed quite happy and James couldn’t help but smile. When he got in he noticed that the flat was a mess: there where brushes everywhere and, here and there, some clothes on the floor.  
“So…this is where you paint?” asked the man, arching an eyebrow and grinning as he followed the boy into a big, empty room, with nothing in there except for a easel with a picture on it, a table full of tubes of paint and different brushes, from the bigger to the smallest. There were three big windows, decorated with beautiful red curtains, thanks to which the light of the sun brightened the room.  
“Yes. I know, it is not ideal, but I like it. I come here every time I want to spend some time alone, painting. And then, after I finish, I walk back to my aunt’s house. Oh, I apologise for the mess, but as you know the commissioner is quite important and I still can’t find a proper suit!” he said, with a sigh. “So? What do you think?” he asked, showing him the painting. James looked at it and his mouth fell open. There weren’t many things able to surprise him but this one, this painting, was wonderful. He got closer, staring at the woman portrayed and he noticed how her gaze seemed so human, so alive.  
“This is amazing, my dear fellow. I’m aghast! You do truly have some great ability here. If I could write like you paint, I’d probably consider myself the greatest writer of the whole century.” Said James and Carlton shook his head, embarrassed, but quite pleasured.  
“You’re too good to me, James. You really think this is a good portrait?”  
“Of course! I like your style. I’d dare to say that it’s very original. Parisians are going to love it.”  
“Oh yes! The banker! I should get prepared! He’ll be here in less than ten minutes!” he exclaimed and rushed out of the room, searching for the right outfit, helped by James. When finally the bell rang, Q took a deep breath and opened the door.  
The banker was a strange man. He was short, quite chubby, and he was accompanied by two men, who, James guessed, were probably his servants.  
“Bonsoir monsieur. S'il vous plaît, suivez-moi. » said the boy, in a perfect French and James looked at him in surprise. He couldn’t believe that such a young boy could already know so well a hard language like French. Neither James himself, who had been in Paris so many times, was remotely that good.  
He followed the four men into the big room and he noticed that, as the banker saw the painting, his eyes had started to water, probably touched by the sight of his now dead wife. He snapped his fingers and the two servants carefully took the painting, walking out of there. The man then got out of his coat an envelope, with the money in it and, with a bow, he walked away.  
“Merci, monsieur. Cela a été un plaisir pour moi.” Said Q before closing the door.  
“A man of few words, wasn’t he?” said James, as he watched, from the window, the banker walking away.  
“Yes. He doesn’t talk that much. Someone told me that he started acting in such a strange way since his wife died.” Replied Q, putting the envelope full of money in the drawer of his desk.  
“I can’t blame him, poor sod.” Mumbled the blond man, looking at the boy and felt himself blush a little, in embarrass, at the thought of his dream.  
“Do you feel well, James? You seem a little flushed.” Said the young man, staring at him with an innocent look and the man nodded, straightening his back and clearing his throat.  
“Do not worry, my friend. I’m perfectly fine. Though it’s hot in here, you should open the windows.”  
“Oh yes! I’m sorry, when I work I never open them.” He replied, smiling.  
“Really? Why so?” asked James, arching an eyebrow.  
“It distracts me. There is always such a lot of noise and this is not exactly a peaceful zone, so I prefer to work in silence. Also, when I paint, I alienate myself completely, from the rest of the world, so I do not feel the hotness or the coldness of this room. You think I’m a fool, don’t you?” He said then, noticing that James was smiling. The blond couldn’t help but chuckle.  
“On the contrary, my young fellow. I do exactly the same thing and my mother always scolds me for this. Sometimes I have to remind her that I’m not a child anymore.” He sighed, with a small grin, and Q laughed, amused.  
“That’s why I decided to find a place for myself. When I paint, I need silence, I need to focus on what I am doing. Living with someone would be just a distraction.” He sighed, opening the windows and looking out in the street.  
People were yelling and it was possible to hear children laughing, running from a place to another in the attempt to rob someone. The buildings were old and the streets were dirty, black and dusty. James could see why the boy wanted to keep the windows shut. It wasn’t exactly a quiet neighborhood where to live. He glanced at Q, staring at his face: it was so smooth, without a hair; he was tempted to touch it, running the palm of his hand against his pale cheek.  
He shook his head, rubbing his face. He should stop thinking about him in such a way: he was a man, a bloody man, and it was a sin thinking those things about a person of the same sex. He could go to prison, for God’s sake.  
But despite that, he couldn’t stop. The fact was that Q was so fragile, so delicate, that all he wanted to do was protect him. He looked like someone who could break at any moment with just a blow of wind.  
He glanced again at him and he could see the boredom in the boy’s eyes.

“Paint something for me.” Said James, suddenly, and Q almost jumped in surprise as he heard his voice.  
“What?” he asked, startled.  
“Paint something for me. Better, paint me. I have always wanted a portrait and I’d like to be portrayed by you. Who could make a better work than you, after all?” he smiled and Q widened his eyes in wonder. His lips stirred in a big smile and he quickly closed the windows.  
“I accept, sit. It would be a great honour for me to make a portrait for you.” He exclaimed, with such a happy expression that James couldn’t help but feel his heart throb faster.  
“Right. Where should I sit? You want me in some particular place or…?”  
“Just sit in a chair. I’ll tell you what you have to do in a minute.” He said, excitedly, as he took a blank canvas, before starting to mix the colours together. The blond man smirked, taking the chair near the desk and putting it against a window, next to a red curtain. He sat down as he observed the boy: he had never seen such an energy, such a great passion. Q really loved his job and James almost felt a pang of envy, because he had never been so happy while writing a book, even if he liked doing it.  
“Right, now look at me in the eyes and stay still. Do not move or you will ruin everything.” Said Carlton, seriously, and James nodded, forcing himself to lock his eyes with the boy’s ones. They were beautiful.  
He gulped heavily when Q cupped his face to make him turn in the right direction, but the young painter didn’t seem to notice. His fingers were so long he could have been a pianist.  
“Stay still…” he whispered before pulling away and James was almost disappointed when Carlton’s fingers left his cheeks.  
He remained in that position for what seemed to be hours and his muscles almost hurt. When the light definitely left the room, Q sighed, pulling down his brush.  
“You can move now.” Said, wiping his fingers in a towel and James quickly stood up, stretching his body.  
“Dear God, I was starting to think that I would remain like that forever.” He joked and the boy smiled.  
“I am truly sorry James, but for a week, you will have to stay like that. Maybe two weeks.” He mumbled then, looking at the painting. The blond man was starting to approach to him, but Q immediately stopped him.  
“Oh no, I’m sorry but you cannot look at it until it is completed.” He said seriously and James rolled his eyes.  
“As you desire ‘sir’.” He smirked before looking at his watch.  
“I should probably go. It’s late and I’m sure my ‘lovely’ mother is going to yell at me, like when I was a fifteen years old.” He sighed, reaching out his hand.  
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” he asked and Q grasped his hand, lightly rubbing his wrists with his fingertips.  
“I will look forward to our meeting.” He replied softly. James pulled away, bowing his head a little, before getting out. When he reached the street he hailed a carriage and quickly climbed in.  
“Oh God…” he whispered after a moment, running a hand through his hair as he rested his head against the seat, remaining silent, listening to the sound of his heart, that was quickly pounding into his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Calire who beta'd this chapter, as well as the others! Thanks dear, without your help this thing would suck! And thanks to Fusterya, who always supports me and to all of you who left kudos on my work! I love you all!

Chapter 3

“Where have you been? I was so worried!” his mother exclaimed as James got into the dining room.  
“Mother, I’m no longer a child. I am an adult. You should stop worrying in such a desperate way.” He sighed, rolling his eyes as the butler took his coat. James approached to the table, sitting down next to the old woman.  
“I’m a mother, I can’t. It’s in my nature. Can you at least tell me what were you doing? I haven’t seen you since this morning, at breakfast.”  
“I was with…Mallory, mother.” He said, hesitantly. He didn’t even know why he was saying such a lie: after all, he didn’t do anything wrong. But he felt like he wanted to keep it a secret, like if it was something precious that he needed to protect and preserve.   
“Oh, you’re still friends with him? I don’t like that man at all.” She said, wrinkling her nose.  
“We are merely friends, mother. He’s just someone with whom I spend some time together. Are you friends with all the ladies with whom you drink your tea?” he asked and his mother simply shrugged, without replying.   
Silence fell in the room and the only sounds were now the ones coming from the silverware. As James ate, he tried to think about that afternoon spent with Carlton. He was confused, because he had never felt anything like that for a man. It was wrong, it was a sin and he loved women, he was sure about that.  
“James, are you alright? You’re trembling, my dear.” Said his mother and he looked down at his right hand: he was gripping the fork so hard that his knuckles had went white. He abruptly stood up, closing his hands into fists.  
“I apologise mother, but I need some air. I’m going out.” He announced and before the woman could say anything he grabbed his coat, getting out.   
He needed some relief, he needed to be sure about himself, about his own sexuality. He needed to feel the soft features of a woman’s body, with her curves and her delicate form, so different from Q’s. 

He took out his cigarette case, lightening one as he got into a dark street. The first time he had been with a prostitute, it had been all Mallory’s fault. It had happened last year and they were drunk, horribly drunk. It was something he was used to, when he and Mallory were together –he couldn’t really blame his mother for not liking him- and they had decided to have some fun. James had followed the man in a strange place –everything was so confusing- full of women, more than willing to have sex with them. The morning after, when he had awakened, he had felt disgusted by himself, but he couldn’t deny that he had liked it. Hell, more than that: he had loved it. And now he needed to feel that sensation again more than ever.  
He reached a brothel, an enormous house, far too beautiful to be in a place like that, where the other buildings were in a state of debasement. He throw the fag of the cigarette on the ground and as he got in, he could feel all the eyes on him and a strange man, dressed with improbable clothes, greeted him. He wore a orange jacket and, wrapped around his neck, a blue foulard. He had black trousers, quite ruined and a tuba.

“Good evening, sir. How can I help you? You look stressed. Maybe one of my girls could help you to relax.” He said, revealing a horrible, mischievous grin. His teeth were yellow and some of them were missing.   
James gulped, nodding and looking around, searching for someone he could like. His eyes met the ones of a beautiful girl, with black curly hair and a pair of light blue eyes. He smiled at her, before looking back at the man.  
“I want her.” He said and the man clapped.   
“You made a marvelous choice, sir. Georgette is one of our most beautiful girls. She’s French.” He winked as the girl approached to them, putting a hand on James arm.  
“Come with me, sir.” She said, with a thick French accent, leading him toward a big chamber with a size king bed and a red, silky cover. 

As soon as they closed the door, James attacked her mouth, pulling her close by wrapping an arm around her waist, while with the other one he started to unlace her corset.   
Oh, he had missed this, the feeling of a pair of feminine lips against his own. He let the corset fall on the floor and then he cupped her breasts, moaning at the sensation of feeling such soft curves: it was wonderful.  
“Oh mon dieu!” She groaned as he started to kiss her white neck, so smooth and pale…like Carlton’s. He wondered how it would feel to kiss the boy, to hear his moans…  
James quickly shook his head, focusing on the woman. He wasn’t supposed to think about him in that moment.  
He completely undressed her, making her lie on the bed, before starting to touch the girl again, leaving a trail of wet kisses on her collarbone and chest, finding a hard nipple and biting it, making the woman whimper in pleasure. Oh, she was beautiful.  
His trousers were now terribly uncomfortable and he unbuttoned them, throwing them on the floor, along with his jacket, shirt and tie.   
The girl’s hands started to wander on his tanned and scarred skin, looking at him with lust and desire. He smirked and quickly spread her legs, touching and stroking her thighs. 

She was already wet, the slut.  
Without waiting any further he lined himself up and with a quick thrust he was inside of her. Both of them groaned at the sensation. How good it was, the best feeling in the whole world.   
He started pounding into her, grabbing her hips hard to keep her still, sure that he was going to leave bruises, but right now he didn’t care.   
His thrusts were fast and hard, making the girl mewl and moan out loud. She wrapped her legs around him, drawing him closer and threw his head back, exposing her beautiful, elegant neck. James licked his lips, before leaning forward and biting it, savoring her salty skin and then looked at her in the eyes.  
They were exactly like Carlton’s and he couldn’t help but wonder how it would have felt to be inside of him. Would he have been this tight? Would sex with him have been this good? How it would have been to grasp his bony hips?  
When the orgasm hit them both, he had to bite his tongue not to scream the boy’s name. He collapsed on her, taking deep breaths, trying to regain control.  
Buggers. He was lost.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Jesus James, what happened? You look terrible.” Said Q, with a concerned stare and the man sighed, rubbing his face.   
After the night with that woman, he had came back home and he had tried to sleep, but it had been useless. He had spent the entire night thinking about what happened: he had thought about the boy while having sex with a woman. That was so absurd that he still couldn’t believe it.   
He really was attracted by Q and he felt betrayed by himself, by his brain and by his very heart.  
“I’m fine. I just couldn’t sleep well tonight. I’m sorry, this is probably going to affect the portrait.”  
“Nonsense, James. It’s not a problem. Today I’ll avoid to paint your face. Do not fret.” The boy replied with a soft smile, grasping James’s hand and making him sit.  
James felt shivers and goosebumps all over his body as Q’s long fingers touched him. Christ, what was happening to him? He had never felt something like this for anyone before.  
He sat down, looking up at Carlton and couldn’t help but smile.  
“You seem happy James. Something good happened?” asked Q, with a knowing smile and James sighed.  
“In a certain way…now stop talking. Were you not the one who said that he needs silence while working?” he teased and the young painter smirked.  
“You’re right my friend.” He said, looking straight into James’s eyes and the man was sure: he was completely and impossibly in love with him.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

“There’s a party tomorrow. I’d like you to come with me. If…if you want, obviously. You are not forced to-“  
“Q, please, do me a favour. Shut up.” Chuckled James, standing up and stretching, while Q whipped away the paint from his fingers.  
“Of course I’ll come with you. Tell me, what is this party about?” he asked, walking towards him.  
“Well, it’s not a proper party. It’s more an exposition. This German artist is going to exhibit his paintings and I received the invite. It’s a great honour for me but, since I don’t know anyone there, I’d like you to come with me. I’ll be more safe.” He mumbled, blushing lightly.   
James stared at him and he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that he was lovely. He wanted to touch those reddening cheeks, feeling his soft, warm skin. God, he was truly lost.   
He did nothing, though, and simply smiled.  
“I’d love to.” He said and Q looked at him with gratitude.  
“You’re a good friend, James. Thank you. It means a lot to me.” He replied, taking the man’s hand and squeezing it. James gulped, nervous, and nodded.  
“Really, it’s nothing. I actually need to get out. The past three days I spent more time with you than with my family.” He joked, not daring to grasp the boy’s hand back.   
He looked out of the window and noticed that it was dark outside.  
“I must go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said, letting his hand go and the boy hummed.  
“Right, perfect. Thanks James.” Said Q, before looking at him, smiling.   
James had to restrain himself from kissing those beautiful lips, that seemed so inviting, perfect to be kissed and nipped. He cleared his throat, nodding and without further hesitation he walked out. He really needed a good sleep now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter there are both James and Q's P.O.V.  
> As always, thanks to my patient beta, Calire <3

Q was a shy boy. He had always been one, since he was a child: meeting new people, talking to strangers… It had always been a problem for him and even if he was now a nineteen year old, and he was now supposed to be an adult, it was still difficult for him. That’s why he was relieved by the fact that James was with him. He felt safe next to the man, who was so strong and confident, on the contrary of the younger, who was tall, thin, weak and not ready at all to meet all those celebrities. And now he was also shivering, good God.  
James must had noticed because he suddenly felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Calm down, do not worry. Everything is going to be alright. I’m with you, remember?” said the man, with a smile and the boy smiled back. Good James, he was always there for him. Since their friendship started, Q couldn’t stop himself from thinking about him and not exactly in what people would call a friendly way. To say the truth, he wasn’t new to men. He knew that for the majority of people it was wrong, horrifying but, to be fully honest, it was the best sensation in the world. But the fact that he was starting to have romantic feelings for his friend wasn’t good at all.  
He knew that James had no interest whatsoever in him or in men in general. He had tried to understand if he could ever be fascinated by him, but he seemed completely indifferent.  
He felt his eyes water a little at the thought. It hurt. It hurt not being able to confess his feelings and the fact that society saw it as depraved was not helping.  
He closed his hands in two fists, so hard that his knuckles went white.

“Carlton, what’s wrong?” said James, suddenly, tightening the grip on Carlton’s shoulder and the boy jumped in surprise. Had James noticed that he was on the verge of crying?  
Q shook his head, trying to smile.

“It’s okay, I’m just a little nervous. I’m going to meet the greatest artists in the whole Europe and it is such a big honour for me that I cannot believe they invited me as well. Maybe, once there, they will say that there has been some kind of mistake and they will send me back home.” He mumbled, wiping away his tears with the palm of his hand. It wasn’t totally a lie, but it was definitely the less worst hypothesis than James leaving him.  
The man chuckled and ruffled the boy’s hair – it was the first time he did something like that – speaking softly.

“There was your name on the invite, I am sure it was not a mistake. And you have the same right to be there as the others. You are a wonderful painter and I’m certain that they will be delighted to meet you. Besides, you have no reason to be frightened at all. I’m with you, remember?” added James in the end, with a big smile and it was like a balm for Q, because he felt immediately better. Good God, he was in love.

 

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“Mr. McGuillan, it’s a great pleasure to meet you! I must say that I love your works. Your _technique_ is _exceptionnel_."

A French man, with short brown hair and two bright green eyes was shaking Carlton’s hand with enthusiasm. James smiled, looking at the scene from afar, leaned against a wall, with a glass of Martini in his hand. Q looked even better in a suit, so different from the usual outfit. He was gorgeous with that white shirt that perfectly fit his lithe body and those tailored trousers… Bollocks. He should stop thinking about him, at least in public.  
James sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had promised to stay with the boy, but he really couldn’t bare the thought of being there. It was so boring. Luckily for him, no one had recognised him and he was glad for that. Until that moment.

“Mr. Bond! What a pleasant surprise to see you here.” A voice said and James turned his head to see Raul Silva, the most hateful critic of art and literature in the whole Britain. That man had ruined so many lives and he had almost managed to ruin James’s but, thankfully for him, the rest of the country had loved his books.  
The older man was wearing a white suit, that emphasized the paleness of his face. He was holding a flute and was sipping his champagne with extreme slowness, staring at James and pinning him there in place with his gaze.

“I wish I could say the same thing.” Replied James, coldly and Silva laughed.

“Funny as Always, Mr. Bond. I wish your books were witty as you are.” Said the white haired man, leaning against the wall, next to James.  
“So, tell me: why are you here? You’re not a painter and, as far as I know, you are not an art critic, thank God.” He grinned and James clenched his jaw, trying to maintain his control.

“I think that this is none of your business, Mr. Silva. Now I should go. Good evening.” He started to walk away but then Silva spoke again.

“You know…people might talk about your sudden friendship with Mr. McGuillan. It is strange that a young, talented boy like him and a gentleman way older than him like you, are friends, don’t you think? I would be careful, if I were you.” Said the man, with a mischievous smile, looking at his flute as he made the champagne in it wave, and James tightened the grasp on his glass.

“You have nothing to worry about, sir. As I said, it is not your business and I assure you that the relationship between me and Mr. McGuillan is purely friendly.” Replied the blond man, turning to look at him, keeping a cold expression.

“I’d like to believe you, Mr. Bond but for some reason, I can’t.”

“I don’t care. I told you the truth, but you’re free to think whatever you want. Now I really should go. Farewell.” And with that he left as his heart started to pound into his chest.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Q was talking with the German painter and his eyes were full of wonder and regard as the man complimented him. 

“I really admire your work, Mr. McGuillan. You’re so young and yet you’re able to pain better than many other people here. Trust me when I say that it is a great pleasure to have you here.” Said the man in a perfect English, even if it was possible to detect a slight German accent. Q gulped, surprised, as he stared at him.

“I’m at loss of words, Mr. Allers. It is a honour to talk to you and what you said really please me.” Said the young painter, with a smile of true happiness. They talked for a while and the boy couldn’t believe how lucky he was being. He was surrounded by incredibly famous artists, it was like being in heaven. He was over the moon.  
When Mr. Allers parted away from him to greet his oncoming guests, Q sighed and looked around, searching for James, but when he found him he widened his eyes. The man was talking with Raul Silva, and panic hit him. The man was terrible and he was probably one of the meanest person he had ever had the horror to meet. When James walked away from the said man, Q approached to him, worried.

“What’s wrong? What did he say?” asked, narrowing his eyes. James smiled, waving a hand.

“Don’t worry, nothing happened. We just had a little chat.” He replied but Q didn’t buy it.

“James…what did he say?” he urged and the man sighed. He was visibly in discomfort as he ran a hand through his hair.

“He had the bravery to accuse me of having an affair with you. How presumptuous.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes and the boy tensed. It was really so obvious that he was attracted by the man?

“Maybe you should go. It’s better this way. And I’m fine now, I’m having a great time.” Said Carlton, looking down at the floor.

“What? Why? I do not have any desire to leave. If you are worried about what he said-“

“No. I want you to leave, James. That man could get you in trouble and I don’t want to see you go to prison or worst, just because of a simple assumption. So just go, please. I’ll be fine.” He muttered, locking his glasz eyes with James’ cold ones, before turning and getting away.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Were that…tears? Were tears the ones he had seen in Carlton’s beautiful eyes? He looked at the boy’s back as he walked away from him and the man couldn’t help but sigh. He got out of there and, as he was outside, he took a big breath, before fishing out a cigarette from his pocket and lightening it, taking a deep drag. God, how complicated was that situation. And he was still trying to understand what’s gotten into Carlton. Why had he reacted in that way? It wasn’t just worry, no. There was something more. Could it be that…no, that was absurd. It couldn’t be. But still, it was the only possible explanation.  
The blond man sighed and started to walk away, searching for a carriage to hail. He was going to deal with that first thing in the morning.

 

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When he woke up, several hours later, he could hear his mother’s desperate cries and, after a moment of confusion, he got up, rubbing his face. He had dreamed about Q, again, but on the contrary of the first times, when he had felt bad and annoyed by those nocturnal fantasies, he was now quite pleased to see the boy, to be able to kiss him like he desperately wanted to. But he couldn’t and that was the worst thing.

He groaned, trying not to think about it and he could feel his head spinning. He had a terrible headache and his mother’s yells where not helping at all. Why was she so in distress? He got in the bathroom, closing the door with a sigh and enjoying a bath. As he dove in he leaned his head against the marble edge, closing his eyes and once again he pictured those wonderful eyes. He couldn’t understand what was their colour. Blue? Green? Grey, maybe? It was impossible to say but he was sure about one thing: he loved them. He loved them as he loved the rest of that perfect face, of that thin body. He wanted to touch him, to feel him.  
As he thought about Carlton, James’s hand moved unconsciously towards his groin, circling his hardening erection with his fingers. Oh, it felt so good and he could imagine how great it would have been with Q’s lips around him. 

He started moving his hand as he continued to fantasise about the young man’s body under him, rubbing their manhood together, slowly. It seemed so real and he could even smell the inebriant scent of the boy as he kissed him, nipped those fragile lips…  
With a muffled groan James came, squeezing his eyes.

“James! James, for Christ’s sake, come here!” he heard his mother scream and he sighed, trying to recover from his orgasm. When he was fully dressed and ready he walked downstairs, rolling his eyes.

“What happened? Why are you yelling, dear mother?”

“Oh, don’t ‘dear’ me! Look at this paper!” she hissed, pointing at the newspaper on the table. James frowned, glancing at it and then he widened his eyes.

“ **BEST SELLER WRITER’S AFFAIR.** ” Said the title and below it there was a photo of him and Carlton, together.  
James bit his lips, and looked at the author of the article. Silva, of course. In the end he had finally managed to ruin him. But why had he wrote something like that? He was an art critic, for the love of God! Not a real journalist.

“So? Is that true, James? Are you going to give me such a displeasure telling me you’re a… depraved?” she spat and he looked at her, tears filling her eyes.

“Mother, do you seriously believe to something like this? You shouldn’t read this rubbish!” he exclaimed, throwing the newspaper on the table, with disgust.  
His mother sighed, clearly relieved.

“Thank Jesus. It would have been such a shame for you and our family.”

“I assure you that between me and Mr. McGuillan there’s just a good friendship but nothing more.” He guaranteed her and the woman smiled, stroking his son cheek.

“I’m happy to hear that. But now, more than ever, you have to find a good girl to marry! I’ll search someone for you, my dear son, don’t worry.” She sang and James scoffed.

“Mother, I don’t-“

“Sir? The telephone. It’s for you.” Interrupted the butler and James was grateful for that. He thanked him with a smile and a nod of his head, before approaching to the telephone in the hallway.

“Yes? With whom I’m speaking?”

“James…it’s me, Q. Can you come to my studio?” the voice of the boy said and James was relieved to hear him. 

“Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thanks.” Replied Q, briefly, before hanging up. James quickly took his coat, opening the door.

“Mother, I’m going out. I won’t be back for lunch!” and before she could even reply, he slammed the door behind him, hailing a carriage.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lovely friend Calire for the help and support! Love you dearie! xxx
> 
> And yes, in the Victoria age they already had condoms!  
> http://somethingvictorianblog.blogspot.it/2006/06/victorian-birth-control.html

When James reached Carlton’s studio, he quickly knocked on the door as soon as he got out of the carriage. It would have been a lie if he had said he wasn’t worried about that article. Bloody Silva. He was going to make him pay for what he did. With which right had he written those things about them. He knew that Silva was just waiting for the right moment to attack him and that had been the opportunity of a lifetime.  
He couldn’t even remember when the man had started hating him. Probably when his book, that in Silva’s opinion was destined to burn, became a bestseller. It was the first time someone didn’t follow his critic about a book and for Silva that had been a personal affront.  
James sighed, running a hand through his hair when suddenly the door opened and he was dragged inside.  
“Have you read the papers?” Carlton, who had dark circles around his eyes asked and he looked like he hadn’t slept at all.  
“Yes, I did. And I swear, I’m going to kill that man.” He said, with a calm expression on his face, but inside he was seething with anger and he clenched his fists.  
“It’s useless and you could be arrested.” Replied quickly Q, frowning, and James tsked.  
“Who cares? I could go to prison anyway, thanks to him, so I prefer being arrested for something I actually did.” The man said, crossing his arms.  
“Always so rash...” The boy sighed and rubbed his face: he was clearly tired.  
“I’m going away, James. Mr. Allers offered me to go with him in Germany and I accepted.” He announced and James ‘s heart stopped beating for a long moment.  
“What? Why? There’s no need for you to go away-“  
“It’s for the best.” Interrupted Q, with a serious expression on his face. “We can’t risk any further. By making you come here I made a big mistake but, before going abroad, I wanted to finish my portrait, so you’ll have something that can remind you of me and...our friendship.” He said in the end, scratching his head. James looked away, trying to maintain a straight expression and just gulped. He knew that it was going to come, that, soon or later, he would have lost him. It was just a matter of time.  
But he didn’t want to: they hadn’t got to spend time together like he desperately wanted to do. For Christ’s sake, he didn’t even say to Carlton how he felt about him. But what could he do now?  
He just sighed, nodding. “It’s fine, I understand and you’re probably right. It’s better this way.” He said and Q gave him a little smile.  
“Thanks for being so understanding, James. Come with me, now. There’s a portrait that needs to be finished.” He managed to chuckle and he got into their usual room, followed by the blond man.  
But James wasn’t calm nor understanding about this departure, but surely he could understand Carlton’s decision. So that was their last day together and he was intentioned to live it to the fullest.  
He sat down on the chair, as always, waiting for Q to begin. God, he was going to miss him so bloody much. Most of all, he was going to miss those days with him: even if they didn’t talk that much, it was always a pleasure for James to watch Q as he worked. He was so focused on his work, so determined. It was a joy for James’s eyes.  
Q looked at him, and even if he was smiling, James could see the sadness in the young man’s expression. Carlton was as desperate as he was. He would have liked to hug him, to hold him tightly, but he restrained himself from doing such thing and he remained still, taking a deep breath.  
He stayed in that position for what seemed hours and he felt the urge to move, at least for stretching himself.

“Stay still, James, it is almost over. I just need to paint your eyes and then the portrait will be finished.” Announced Q and the blond man sighed in relief.  
“Finally. I don’t feel my legs anymore.” He chuckled as the boy got closer to him.  
“Look at me, James.” He said, cupping the man’s face and James felt shivers running down his spine as he felt Q’s hand on him and he remembered the first time the boy did something like that and how much he had wanted to kiss him.  
“I want to be able to paint their intensity. You always look so cold, but we both know that this isn’t true.” Said the young painter and their eyes met.  
James’s heart stopped beating and he could hear Q keeping his breath. He stared at him, noticing every little freckle, every little detail of that beautiful face and then those lips, those lips that had filled his fantasies so many times. He looked up again and Carlton got closer, so close that he could feel his hot breath.  
“James...” started him but the man didn’t let him finish. He cupped his face as well and in a second his lips met Carlton’s. And it was bliss. God, how much he had wanted this. How much he had wanted to hold that boy in his arms. He could feel the soft texture of Q’s lips under his and when his tongue traced their contour he heard the young man groan lightly. That made him shiver and soon their tongues were brushing one along the other.  
After what seemed years, even centuries, they parted away and Q’s eyes were wide open in both shock and surprise. And then James realized what he just did.  
“Oh Christ...I’m sorry.” He started to mutter and he quickly stood up, getting away from the boy. Jesus, what had he just done? 

Q was still shocked and now he was looking away, outside the window. James took a deep breath, clenching his fists.  
“I’m sorry, this was an enormous mistake. I’ll go now. It was a great pleasure to know you.” He said, gulping, but managing to put up a calm expression as he got out of the room, with a little bow.  
“James!” he heard Q yell a second later. James turned around and frowned. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t stay there and listen to him.  
“No, look, it was a mistake, the biggest mistake of my life and I understand if you hate me now. And since I don’t want you to, I’ll leave. So...farewell.” he said, bowing once more. But before he could open the door, Q spoke.  
“You are the most idiotic man I’ve ever met.”  
James arched an eyebrow and turned around again.  
“Excuse me?”  
“You heard me, don’t pretend to be deaf. I said you are the most idiotic man I’ve ever met. And I mean it, you are. Because if you were smart, you would have understood how bloody much I love you.”

Now it was James’s turn to be surprised. He gave him an incredulous look and he suddenly felt his mouth dry.  
“You love me?”  
“Yes. And since you kissed me, I deduce you feel something for me as well, isn’t it?”  
James gulped and quickly nodded. “I do. Of course I do. God knows how much I love you.” He managed to say after a while and Q smiled, getting closer to him.  
“I wasn’t sure about your feelings for me. You never showed much interest in me in that way and I can understand why. But knowing the truth makes me feel better. And sad, at the same time.”  
James sighed. He knew what the boy meant: as much as they loved each other, they could never show it outside of those four walls.  
It was horrible and wrong, because he just wanted to say to the world ‘I love this man and I don’t care’, but he couldn’t and the thought made him sick.  
“If only I could change people’s mind....but I can’t and neither can you.” He said, looking at the boy in the eyes.  
“It’s not fair, James.” Pouted him and the man couldn’t stop himself from thinking that he was somehow adorable.  
“I know, but what can we do? It’s not easy and...” he sighed, rubbing his face. “I don’t even know how to handle the whole thing, Carlton. The only thing I know is that no one must know about us. My mother was nearly having a stroke this morning, reading that article.” And as he said it he thought about Silva and a raging anger filled his mind. He truly wanted to kill that man for what he did. He didn’t just put James in danger -and he really couldn’t care less about what they thought about him- but also Q, and he couldn’t let him ruin the boy’s life. He was talented, young and he had a career ahead of him. He didn’t deserve to be treated like this.

“It’s fine, I can handle it. And, after all, I’m leaving, so you won’t have to worry.” Said Q and James frowned. Right, Carlton was going away from him, probably forever. That was the last time they could see each other. With two big steps James reached for him and kissed him again, hard and desperate, trying to put in that kiss everything he felt for that boy.  
Q grasped James’s shirt, clinging to it for dear life, never letting the man go. It was a passionate one, this time. It wasn’t sweet and chaste like the one they had shared moments before. It was all teeth and tongues, searching for each other, dancing in each other’s mouths.  
They never parted, even for an instant and, slowly, Q led the man towards the small bedroom he owned. As they got there, the boy started tugging at the older man’s clothes, taking the jacket the blond was wearing off his shoulders. He let it fall on the floor, before breaking the kiss, trying to catch his breath: they were both panting and their faces were flushed as they looked into each other’s eyes.  
After a brief moment their lips met again, James’s hands both on the boy’s body: one on his waist and the other one in his hair, letting his fingers tug at those beautiful curls. He pressed their lips even closer, nipping at Carlton’s bottom one, before taking the boy into his arms, letting him lie on the bed. He then parted from him just to kiss his neck, finally tasting his skin.  
He had fantasised so much about that moment that now it didn’t even seem real. But it was, it was all real and, Jesus, it felt so damn good. He sucked his skin, glorying himself of the beautiful moans that were escaping from Q’s lips. He licked a long stripe from the base of the neck to the jaw, biting it lightly.  
“James...” Q exhaled, and the man chuckled. He started to unbutton the white shirt the young painter was wearing, kissing every bit of skin that was showed as every button popped out of each eyelet.  
Carlton arched his back, grasping James’s hair, lacing his fingers into it. When the upper part of his body was finally naked, James stared at him, completely stunned.  
“Jesus Christ, you’re beautiful.” He whispered and Q blushed heavily.  
“Stop complimenting me and get to work, you fool.” He smirked, pulling the man in for another kiss. He moaned loudly and that made James dizzy. That boy was teasing him, he knew it. He looked like a little, innocent angel, but he was actually a devil, ready to drive him crazy. Soon James found himself with his back on the mattress, while Q caressed his torso, touching a scar. He looked up at James, with an arched eyebrow and the man shrugged.  
“During one of my travels I had to fight. Trying to retrieve information for my books isn’t that easy as it seems.” He explained and Q smiled, kissing the scar. That was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Paris, Rome, even London were nothing compared to the sight of that beautiful man.  
Q looked up at him once more before starting to caress James’s legs. And he was smirking, the little bastard. James could do nothing but groan when he felt an hand on his crotch. Carlton unbuttoned the man’s trousers, pulling them off and throwing them somewhere in the room, immediately followed by the underwear. Soon James could feel the hot breath of the boy on his shaft.  
And then, slowly, Q wrapped his long, elegant fingers around it, making the blond man hold his breath. James released a breathless moan when the brunet started moving his hand.  
“Oh, Christ...” James tilted his head back when Carlton’s tongue traced a line from the base to the tip, tonguing at the slit. He had had various woman, one more beautiful than the other but none of them had ever made him feel like that before. It was strange and exciting at the same time. He opened his mouth to ask the boy where he had learnt something like that when another moan escaped from his lips as Q wrapped his own around the head.  
How many times he had thought about that? And now it was really happening and it was absolutely wonderful.  
James fisted the sheets and he could hear Carlton chuckle around his cock. Saucy minx. He was having fun, wasn’t he? Seeing James completely at his mercy.  
Soon the man stopped thinking straight, as Q bobbed his head up and down, swirling his tongue around the head. He knew what he was doing, that was sure. James laced his fingers into Carlton’s hair, stroking his curls every now and then, but when he felt that he was on the verge of coming, he tugged at them and the boy stopped his movements. He let go of his shaft with an obscene ‘pop’, before feeling his lips crushed against James’s.  
“Where did you learn something like that?” the blond panted out and Q grinned.  
“You thought this was the first time I gave head to someone? Poor James.” He chuckled, kissing him again, sweetly. “But you’ll be the first in another way, if this can comfort you.” He added then and James could see him blushing lightly. He stroked his cheeks with his thumbs, softly, smiling at him.  
“There’s nothing I’d love more, believe me.” He whispered as he moved his hands down that lithe body. They kissed for a while, and they rolled on the bed, being now Q’s turn to lie on his back. James didn’t lose time and quickly he undressed the boy completely, kissing and stroking his body. He loved it. It was different from a woman’s body, more sharp, without curves, but it was perfect either way. 

“James...please...” started pleading Q, arching his back and tilting his neck, showing that beautiful neck. But James wanted to take things slowly, so he sucked his skin, right where there was Adam’s apple and he could feel Carlton gulping.  
“Is this your revenge?” asked the dark-haired boy, looking at the man in the eyes and this one laughed.  
“Kind of, yes...” he smirked, licking at his earlobe before nipping at it, while with his hands he stroked Carlton’s inner thighs, making the young man moan once more. He noticed that the boy was already hard and leaking precome. God, he had never seen anything more beautiful.  
“James, I want you...” Q whispered and at those words, James completely lost it. He kissed him, hungrily, before parting from him.  
“Do you have-“ he started, but Q interrupted him.  
“Bedside drawer.” He said, quickly and James nodded, with a smirk, finding a tube of vaseline and a sheath. He didn’t lose time and he put it on, before taking a big amount of vaseline. He didn’t want to hurt him.  
He knew how anal sex worked, of course –he had tried it with some prostitutes- and he know how painful it could be, so he let the boy widen his legs and then started to circle Carlton’s hole, slowly, massaging it, and he felt the boy tense as soon as he pushed the tip of one of his fingers in.  
“Relax...I’ll be careful, I promise.” He said, in a comforting tone, pecking his lips, and then he resumed his action, pushing further, until it was in.  
“How do you feel?” he asked, not moving his finger, so that the boy could get used to the intrusion. Q gulped and groaned.  
“It’s...strange, but not entirely uncomfortable.” He mumbled, grasping the sheets as soon as James dragged his finger out.  
“You’ll get used to it. Just relax. Do you trust me?” he said, looking at him in the eyes and Q nodded.  
“Of course I do.” He smiled and James kissed him, continuing his ministrations.  
Soon he started to push two fingers in, scissoring him open. He was tight and he could feel his walls trying to hold his fingers in. When even a third finger was in and Q had gotten used to it, James positioned himself between his legs, lining up his shaft against Carlton’s entrance.  
“Ready?” he asked and the boy gave him a nod, grasping the man’s large shoulders.  
“Ready...” he breathed out and James started to thrust in, carefully. He hissed as Q dug his nails into the man’s shoulder. He was in pain and the blond wanted to get out of him but the boy looked at him and shook his head.  
“Go on...don’t stop now.” He breathed and James smiled softly, kissing his forehead, continuing to move. Once he was all the way in he rested his head onto Q’s chest, grasping the boy’s hips and then he began to stir. A cry of pleasure escaped from their mouths as James thrust inside that pliant body. It was marvellous, and the thought that beneath him there was that man, the man who loved, made everything ten thousand times better.  
They searched each other’s lips, hands, lacing their fingers together...he had never felt anything like this for any woman before. And he didn’t care about what was going to happen later. Right now, all he could think of was Carlton, kissing him, loving him. The rest could wait.

When James thrusts became more erratic and frenetic, he knew that he was close. And so was Q. He wrapped his fingers around the young man’s erection, eliciting a groan from him and a few thrusts later they both came with a yell, shouting the name of the respective partner. James collapsed on top of Carlton, slipping outside of him and taking deep breaths, closing his eyes.  
“Are you alright?” he asked, costing a strand of hair from Q’s face. The boy smiled, looking at him.  
“I’ve never felt better before.” He replied, between the pants, kissing his lips, before they fell asleep, one in the arms of the other.


End file.
